


Worlds Apart

by Stayawhile



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-05
Updated: 2011-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 10:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stayawhile/pseuds/Stayawhile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Duv gazed out at the stars. “When I’m in Vorbarr Sultana, I feel like a Komarran, and now that we’re on our way to Komarr, I feel very Barrayaran."</i></p><p>Futurefic, set after MIles and Ekaterin's wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Imperial yacht Vorkomarr slipped smoothly out of orbit, on course for the wormhole to Komarr. A gift to the royal couple from Toscane Industries, the Escobarran-built cruiser combined speed, comfort, and a highly customized array of the most up-to-date weaponry House Fell had to offer. Duv Galeni, chief of ImpSec’s Komarran bureau, took a deep breath, daring to hope that the exhausting weeks of preparation, planning, negotiating, compromising, calling in favors, pulling rank and planning for every imaginable contingency might, with luck, be about to pay off.

Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan joined him at the viewport of the main salon. The blast shielding was open, wide windows displaying bright stars against the inky black of space. “So, Duv, looking forward to the visit home?”

“Home? Oh, you mean Komarr? No, I said goodbye to my home when we took off. She’s back in Vorbarr Sultana, plotting with Lady Alys.”

“Plotting?” Miles laughed. “So you’re not looking forward to the wedding festivities?”

Duv turned to him. “The betrothal party was just…. Delia may not be not Vor, but her family moves in some very vorish circles. It’s a bit much sometimes. Especially when Lady Alys wants to help.”

“Ah, Lady Alys is a force to be reckoned with,” Miles mused. “It may be entirely unofficial, but she has more influence than at least half of the Counts, and her backing can only do your career good. But Vor protocol is tiresome enough when you’ve grown up with it.”

Duv gazed out at the stars. “When I’m in Vorbarr Sultana, I feel like a Komarran, and now that we’re on our way to Komarr, I feel very Barrayaran. The only place I feel at home is with Delia.” He paused. “You’re lucky to have Lady Vorkosigan traveling with you.”

“You’re not wrong,” Miles replied. “Well, I can guarantee that being married is a good deal more pleasant than getting married.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said a voice behind them. The two men turned to see Lady Vorkosigan, dressed in loose Komorran-style trousers and vest. “And I thought I told you to call me Ekaterin, Commodore Galeni. Given that your fiancée’s sister will be marrying my brother-in-law, doesn’t that make us cousins, of a sort?”

Duv swept a small bow. “It does indeed, milady—I mean, Ekaterin.”

Miles was looking up fondly at his wife. “Come to look at the stars, love?”

She shook her head. “Come to drag you back to our quarters. Tomorrow will be a busy day, so I’m going to play the domestic dictator and see to it that you take care of yourself. You’ve been ill, and five wormhole jumps won’t do your digestion any good.”

He sighed. “True enough. I miss that nifty chip I used to have on my vagus nerve, kept me from getting space-sick. I keep thinking I should get a new one installed, and then I remember how much I enjoy surgery, and put it off again.”

“It wouldn’t have done any good with that virus you had.” She wrapped an arm around her husband’s shoulder, and smiled at Duv Galeni. “On Delia’s behalf, I’m going to suggest that you rest while you can. We’re all hoping for an uneventful trip, but you have to remember that my husband is a member of the party.”

“Hey!” protested Miles. His friend and his wife both laughed, and he let out a deep sigh.

“Thank you, Ekaterin, for reminding me.” Duv felt a burst of envy as they left the salon, Miles’ arm wrapped around Ekaterin’s waist. Instead of heading for his cabin, he sat down on one of the blue-velvet sofas, trying dismiss from his mind all the things that could conceivably go wrong on Komarr, and think about Delia instead.

She had been so beautiful the night of the betrothal party, all in pale blue, with some sort of tiny flowers in her pinned-up hair. The evening had been marked by a surreal sense of historical vertigo. Aral Vorkosigan, the bogeyman of his childhood, the Butcher of Komarr, raising a glass to toast his happiness. Miles Vorkosigan, whom he had instantly tagged as a hyperactive, insubordinate pain-in-the-ass on their first meeting, had remained at his elbow, providing quiet, useful, and occasionally hilarious background information on the other guests. Most disconcerting of all, the Emperor himself briefly stopping by to offer personal congratulations. It was dizzying to shake hands with the man who was at once his commanding officer, the representation of historical forces that had shaped his life, and the husband of the woman he had once hoped to marry.

But afterward, he had held Delia in his arms, wilted petals falling from her disheveled hair, both tired and a little tipsy, and very content to be officially betrothed to one another.

“So, how bad was it, Duv? I was a little overwhelmed, I’ll admit.”

He laughed. “I’m fine. Very glad that I’ll never have to do this again.”

“Until the wedding…” she said. He buried his head in her neck and let out a low moan. She giggled. “I suppose things are simpler on Komarr?”

“I wouldn’t know. I never got married on Komarr. Or betrothed.”

She raised her head. “I should hope not! You’d better not be keeping secrets from me, Duv Galeni!” After a pause, her mocking tone turned more serious. “Did you ever want to? I mean, was there ever a Komorran…?”

“That I wanted to marry?” He thought for a moment of the woman he had lost, to hesitation and a self-imposed timetable. “There was one, but I never asked her. She wound up marrying someone else.” He felt her arms tighten around him, a small tension entering her lovely shoulders. “Lucky for me she did.”

He remembered a bit of joking advice from a more than slightly drunken Ivan Vorpatril. “When you want to get out of a conversation with a girl, kiss her. Either she’ll kiss you back or she’ll slap you, but one way or the other, she’ll lose track of what you were saying.” Ivan was an idiot, but he might have learned a thing or two about girls, having spent years in research. Duv leaned in to kiss Delia, and lost track of the conversaation himself as she kissed him back.


	2. Chapter 2

“Gregor! I just got the most splendid news!” Laisa, already dressed in green silk, her Komarran trousers and vest heavy with gold embroidery, turned from the comconsole to her husband. He was just emerging from the bath, hair dripping onto his robe. He leaned to kiss her.

“Do tell,” he said. “And is that the schedule? I think we’ve got about an hour till we have to be ready to be officially greeted and welcomed to the jump station, before we take the ferry downside.” He quirked his mouth. “At which point we will be officially greeted and welcomed to Komarr. Be prepared, love, I expect there will be a group of officials waiting in the Imperial guest quarters to officially greet and welcome us to the bathroom.”

Laisa laughed. The Emperor Gregor most people saw, at ceremonies and on holovids, was stiff and formal, his face revealing little emotion. She wished more people knew about the warm, caring man she loved, but the inner circle with whom Gregor could relax and be himself was very small. He joined her at the comconsole.

“So, what’s the good news?”

“My friend Ivania—you remember, I told you about her—she just got betrothed, last night! She’s so happy. Her family’s planning a little celebration, just family and a few close friends, this Saturday, and isn’t it wonderful, we’re on Komarr! We can go!” She was smiling, excited, until she saw Gregor’s face. He was smiling, but it was the blank delaying-tactic smile he used when he wasn’t ready to share his real reaction. She was one of the few who knew the difference.

“How lovely for your friend. Do you know the lucky man?” he asked.

“Mikaya Tevner. I’ve met him once or twice, his family’s in shipping. Business rivals of the Toscanes.” She wasn’t sure why this news would be a problem. “Gregor, is something the matter? Do you know something I don’t?”

He headed for the enormous wardrobe, which put his back to her as he spoke. “It’s just that I hate disappointing you. We can’t attend this party, love, much as I’d like to. ImpSec would have conniption fits. They’ve spent months vetting every single place and person on our itinerary.”

Of course. She turned, watching him as he began to dress. “Sometimes I wonder. Does ImpSec serve the emperor, or does the emperor serve ImpSec?”

Gregor buttoned his pants and came to stand beside her, and Laisa leaned her head into his bare chest. “I’ve wondered that all my life. The best answer I’ve managed to come up with is that the Emperor serves Barrayar, and one of the ways he does that is by not ignoring his advisors when they’re speaking truth. Even if it’s inconvenient.”

She took a deep breath. “Gregor, Solstice is my home. Ivania was my best friend all through school. And it’s not as if it’s a public occasion, or in a bad neighborhood. Her family’s as loyal as mine; her father owns one third of the grocery stores on Komarr. Surely ImpSec can handle a small family party on a private estate. Can’t they?”

He turned away, reaching for his shirt. “General Allegre regularly informs me that ImpSec can handle anything. I suppose if I were to request and require it, they could manage an in-depth security check on everyone on the guest list, and all the family servants, in the next forty-eight hours. Of course, if anyone on the list didn’t pass the security check, either Ivania’s parents would have to ask them not to come, or we would be unable to attend. Then there’s the location; if ImpSec didn’t think they could secure it adequately, we would have to ask Ivania’s parents to move their family party to one of the hotels that has been already checked and secured. Naturally, we would then offer to pay for the party. Finally, we would have to apologize to the Mayor of Solstice and the Solstice Chamber of Commerce, who are hosting the banquet we’re scheduled to attend that night, and smooth over any ruffled feathers created by our canceling at the last minute to attend another event. None of that is impossible, love, but it would take a rather large exercise of Imperial power, and that’s not, unfortunately, an infinite resource.” He finished buttoning up the jacket of his formal Vorbarra house uniform, and turned to her, every inch the Emperor of three planets. “I try not to make those kinds of demands unless it’s very important.”

Laisa’s throat tightened. She rose and got her hairbrush from the bedside table, not trusting herself to speak right away. “I understand,” she said, watching her own face in the mirror. “This is not important to Barrayar. It’s only important to me.”

“Laisa—” He sounded exasperated. “The reason we’re here is because some Komarran terrorists tried to cut Barrayar off from the rest of the galaxy three years ago. I know it’s your home, but I can’t pretend that I’m universally loved here. You know there are still people who aren’t happy that I married you, on both sides of the wormhole. And while I don’t give a damn what they think, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring it. And I’m sorry, but neither do you.”

For a moment the room was silent except for the soft swish of Laisa’s hairbrush, and the underlying hum of the VorKomarr’s systems.

“I’m sorry, Gregor.” Her voice was soft. “I sometimes forget that I didn’t marry a man, I married an Empire.” She did not turn around when he sighed, deeply.

“I’m sorry, too, Laisa.” There was a soft ring at the door. Gregor pushed the intercom button. “Yes?”

“Sire, the Komarran delegation will be arriving in ten minutes.” _So it’s time you and the Empress got your Imperial selves out here_ was left politely unsaid.

“We will join you shortly.” He cut the com and turned back to his wife, putting his arms around her, feeling relieved as he felt her relax into his embrace. “Maybe you’d have been happier married to a Komarran. But you did marry an Empire, and I can only be grateful that you put up with it for my sake.”

She leaned into him, resting her head against the brocade sash that, in lieu of a crown, denoted his status. “I do, and I will, because I love you. I do wish someday, we could come back here on a non-official visit, a vacation. Just Laisa and Gregor, spending some time with my family and friends.” She stepped back. “Is that possible?”

“I’ll check with ImpSec,” he replied, quirking a smile. He was relieved when she smiled in return. “Perhaps we can invite Ivania and her new husband to honeymoon on Barrayar. But now—” He crooked his arm, and she laid an elegant hand on it.

“Now we stop being Laisa and Gregor, because they’re waiting for the Emperor and the Empress.” She gave one last glance in the mirror and straightened her spine.

But as they moved down the ship’s corridors, their steps in rhythm, one sentence echoed in Laisa’s head: _Maybe you’d have been happier married to a Komarran._


	3. Chapter 3

Commodore Galeni sipped his coffee, grateful that he had never been susceptible to jump-nausea. Docking had gone smoothly, and he had just a few minutes to check the latest messages before the space station’s welcoming reception. The Emperor’s visit to Komarr to dedicate the new, enlarged soletta array was all ceremony and public relations, but with important political implications. As ImpSec chief for Komarran affairs, it was up to him to make sure nothing went wrong. He had pushed for a little more flexibility and downtime in the schedule, but there were so many organizations and individuals who wanted a piece of the Emperor and his Komarran-born Empress. There would be repercussions if anything had to be changed or cancelled at this point, and he could only hope Miles’ virus wasn’t contagious.

He sifted through his messages. A minor menu change for the formal banquet at Solstice Hall needed approval; he forwarded that to Laisa’s social secretary, with a copy to ImpSec’s Solstice office. The usual ImpSec galactic affairs summary; nothing major happening, fortunately. Something encoded, marked _Personal and Confidential._ A note from Delia? He smiled as he entered the appropriate codes, but it wasn’t Delia’s face that filled the screen.

 _

David, it’s, it’s Marya. I hope you recognize me. I’m sure this is a shock. It’s been a long time, and I guess you never thought you’d hear from me again. But this is about the Emperor’s visit, and it’s absolutely vital that you meet with me. I promise you won’t regret it, and this isn’t a setup. Remember where Glennin fell off the climbing structure, and broke his arm? Meet me there, alone, tomorrow at noon. Please, David. I’m trusting you, and I’m asking you to trust me. And…like I said, it’s been a long time. I’d like to see you again.

_

The screen went dark, and Duv stared blankly into it for a long moment. Shock, oh yes indeed. Nobody had called him David for a very long time; half the time he didn’t even remember he had been born David Galen. Everyone who had called him that was long dead.

Or so he had thought.

He replayed the message, trying to match the middle-aged woman on the screen with dim, long-untouched memories. Older, of course, and heavier, with tired lines around her eyes and mouth. The hair cut short, no longer red, but gray. But those eyes and the voice were familiar. It wasn’t impossible.

Marya had been fourteen when her mother was killed in the Komarr massacre. A sullen, angry teenager, she had not been particularly interested in her little cousin David, but had bonded with her Uncle Ser over their shared rage and grief. Rebecca Galen was elevated to a household saint, and Komarr’s freedom an indisputable religion. Duv’s older brother, Ren, had eagerly joined the triad. David, excluded by his youth, buried himself in books, histories of Komarr, Earth, Barrayar, tales of past wars and heroes.

Even as he began to silently question his father’s words, he yearned to be considered a man, and invited to take part of the manly business of liberating Komarr. Finally it happened, two weeks after he turned twelve. He was given a photograph of a man, and instructed to study it carefully. For four afternoons, he spent the two hours after school let out in a particular café, consuming soft drinks and pretending to study a textbook while watching for the man in the photo. When the man finally arrived, it was difficult to hide his excitement, but he followed instructions, slipping out of his chair and carelessly leaving his bookbag behind. He had not been told what it contained, but his racing imagination had filled that space with secret messages, strategic information or maybe even weapons passed to another member of the Komarran underground. David pictured himself meeting the man in the photo someday, being thanked for his work on behalf of Komarran independence.

The news that night revealed the man’s identity: Senator Marcus Kerasken, liaison to the Barrayaran government, had been killed in an explosion, along with twelve others. No suspects had been identified. Looking from the shots of the café’s smoking ruins to his father’s satisfied smile, David found his stomach churning.

“Well done, son. You struck a blow for Komarr today.” David turned away, thinking of the pretty waitress who had smiled at him when she brought his drink.

He returned to his books, where he found more questions than answers. As the months passed, he began to ask his questions aloud, and although he still occasionally served as a lookout or a messenger, he refused to carry packages whose contents he didn’t know. By the time he turned fourteen, arguments about the future of Komarr were a nightly routine, at least on nights when Ser Galen was at home.

Those nights became rare. His father and brother were increasingly absent, attending meetings and mysterious “assignments.” Ser Galen kept his wife uninformed about his whereabouts, saying it was for her own protection, and she retreated deeper into silent domesticity. But David could not restrain himself from asking, despite a growing sense that he might not want to know the answers.

 _“Where are you going? When are you coming back? Do you know how much mama worries when you disappear like this?”_

 _Ser Galen’s voice was low. “Keep it down. Trust me, it’s better if she doesn’t know.”_

 _David’s voice rose. “All right, I want to know what you’re doing. The last time you you were gone for three days, right around that sniper incident. You think she didn’t notice that? You think I don’t notice?”_

 _“You’re just a kid, and if you had as much brains as your teachers claim you do, you’d make damn sure not to notice.” Galen turned his back on his son and headed for the door._

 _“I’m as old as Ren was when you started taking him with you.”_

 _Galen paused in the open doorway, then turned. His face was unreadable, his figure a shadow silhouetted by the morning light. “I can trust your brother Ren. He is politically reliable. You are not.”_

He had been furious at first, and later, relieved. A botched attempt to blow up the Komorran Assembly building had destroyed his family and given him his freedom. His brother was dead, and as far as everyone knew, his father disintegrated along with the makeshift explosives laboratory and much of the city block it had occupied. After a fast-penta interrogation had cleared him and his mother of involvement in the Free Komarr terror cell Ser Galen had led, they had been allowed to move on with their lives. So David Galen, confused and bereaved, had taken refuge from the present in history. His studies had convinced him that the integration of Komarr into the Barrayaran Empire was his world’s only true hope for peace. His career had been a conscious effort to contribute to that dream’s realization. Now Duv Galen, one of the highest-ranking Komarran-born officers in ImpSec (certainly the highest-ranking son of a Komarran terrorist in ImpSec) stared into his cousin’s face, and his family’s tangled past.

 

The welcoming reception had gone well, which was to say it was stiff, formal, appropriate and incredibly dull. Admiral Naismith’s ghost, not too deeply buried inside Miles, was wistful for the adrenaline rush of unexpected events, but the Lord Auditor had learned to appreciate boredom. Besides, he couldn’t help feeling smug, with Ekaterin by his side. I may be short, but I’m with the prettiest lady in the room. A member of the security detail approached, and Miles was pleased to recognize Captain Tuomonen, the ImpSec officer who had worked with him on investigating the destruction of the original soletta array.

Tuomonen gave a small bow. “My Lord Auditor. My Lady. May I offer you my congratulations? I was very pleased to hear of your wedding.”

“Thank you,” said Ekaterin graciously. Miles wondered if she was remembering her fast-penta interrogation by the Captain, after her first husband’s ignominious death. If so, she gave no sign of it. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Captain,” Miles said, reaching out for a firm handshake. “Glad to see that the mess you helped me with hasn’t slowed down your career.”

“Commodore Galeni has been very…supportive. I suspect a word from someone in the need-to-know set, but that may just be intuition.” Tuomonen smiled.

“Never discount intution,” responded Miles. Tuomonen suddenly looked abstracted, as if he was hearing something they couldn’t. Miles deduced that he had, as the officer politely excused himself and moved off toward the opposite side of the room. After all, he was on duty.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The reception broke up shortly afterward, right on schedule, and the Barrayaran delegation returned to their rooms. Miles and Ekaterina let the doors of their comfortable quarters shut behind them before they both spoke.

“Well, that went well, I –”

“Is everything all right with—”

They broke off laughing. “You first,” said Miles.

“I may just be imagining things…” Ekaterin began slowly, “but is everything okay with Gregor and Laisa? I got the impression they were, I don’t know, uncomfortable, or concerned or something.”

“Hm.” Miles sat down and began removing his boots. “I haven’t heard anything, and Duv’s been keeping me updated on security. What did you notice?”

She continued pacing. “I can’t really point to anything. Just a sense of…constraint, between them. Body language. Usually they seem more in tune with each other, and tonight there was a sort of tension. Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Miles considered her words. He’d developed a great deal of trust in Ekaterin’s perceptions, especially since she tended to notice different things than he did. Talking over a situation with her often resulted in unexpected insights. “Maybe. But as I said earlier, never discount intuition. You think they had an argument or something?”

She sat beside him, and he leaned his head comfortably into her breasts as she put an arm around him. “I know this trip is putting a lot of pressure on them, personally. Laisa hasn’t been home in a long time, and the attention she’s getting here is even more intense than what she’s had to get used to in Vorbarr Sultana. I wish your mother was here.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Ekaterin shifted, straightening her spine. “Perhaps I should invite her in for a cup of tea. See if she wants to talk. She may be my Empress, but she’s also my friend.”

“As Gregor is mine.” Miles reached for his boots. “A proper Vor post-party debriefing—which is to say, a drink or two—sounds like just what the Emperor ordered.”


	4. Chapter 4

Laisa’s tentative acceptance had grown more enthusiastic at the words “just the two of us,” but Ekaterin felt a lingering nervousness as she received the tea service from an ImpSec man in a servitor’s uniform. She might be Vor, but inside she was still a small town girl from the South Continent. It was disconcerting to find that girl had become the confidante of Barrayar’s Empress. But Laisa had, literally, worlds of people who bowed to her as a symbol of the Imperium, and only a few friends she could trust.

Tea was poured, greetings exchanged, cakes offered and accepted—there had been food at the reception, but both women had declined to try to play the gracious lady while chewing. A moment of silence followed, into which Ekaterin advanced her first conversational pawn.

“Is everything all right, Laisa?”

The Empress sighed. “It’s fine.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “It’s just…the Vor thing, as I’ve come to call it. It seems I’m still adjusting. Not just Vor, but The Vor, the highest of the high Vor. I didn’t grow up with it.”

Ekaterin considered this. “I didn’t either, really. There’s a great difference between Vorbarr Sultana and the town I grew up in, and being married to Lord Auditor Vorkosigan is nothing like being married to a midlevel administrator. Even though they’re both Vor.”

Laisa sipped her tea. “I thought you might understand. Though I suppose it’s just my own foolishness I have to blame. I imagined I was coming home to Komarr, and I haven’t. I can’t. Komarr may be the same, but I’m not.” As she explained her disappointment over Ivania’s bethrothal party, and the obligations that made it impossible to enjoy even this small part of her old life, Ekaterin felt an uncomfortable empathy. It reminded her of her first marriage: being forced into a role, a small box that she had shrink herself to fit. At least Gregor appeared to understand Laisa’s feelings, but he had lived in that same box all his life. Does a fish see water? Can a fish drown?

“Don’t get me wrong. I love him. And he loves me, and he needs me.” Laisa’s eyes were far away as she spoke. On Gregor, Ekaterin suspected. “Still, coming back here makes me feel that I’m caught between two worlds. And sometimes, it makes me feel as if Gregor and I are worlds apart.” She sighed. “Your mother-in-law warned me about this.”

“Well, she’s been through it, and she’s still very Betan, even after so many years,” Ekaterin replied. She had often wished to be more like Miles’ formidable mother, who managed to be both compassionate and forthright, and somehow got away with her unorthodox opinions. “She only stayed on Barrayar because she loves the Count, I think. And she’s still trying to make Barrayar a little more Betan.”

“So should I be trying to make Barrayar more Komarran? Or make Komarr more Barrayaran?” Laisa asked.

Ekaterin refilled her teacup. “Yes,” she said decisively, “both. Because it needs to be done and you can help make it happen.” Her mind turned back to the cargo bay of a Komorran space station, and the realization that the only chance to defeat a terrorist plot was in her terrified, unready hands. “I don’t think we get to choose the tasks life hands us. Especially when love is involved.” She paused. “I never believed I could do some of the things I’ve done, until I had to do them. You had already accomplished so much before you got married, Laisa. Bringing Komarr and Barrayar closer should be,” she gestured at the tea tray, “a piece of cake.”

“I accept,” Laisa said wryly. Ekaterin raised an eyebrow. “Your challenge—and another piece of cake.”

“I didn’t mean—” Ekaterin replied, flustered.

The Empress of three worlds laughed. “I think the Countess is starting to rub off on you. That sounded very much like something she would have said.”

Ekaterin savored the words. “That,” she replied, “I take as an enormous compliment.”

 

Miles sauntered down to the station hotel’s Main Salon and snagged a bottle of venerable brandy from behind the bar. The guard stationed at the door of Gregor and Laisa’s suite was professionally expressionless; Miles smiled and waved at the likeliest locations for security cameras in the foyer while he waited to be announced.

Gregor brightened at the sight of him. “Ah, Miles. This isn’t another security briefing, is it?”

“Purely social,” he replied, holding up the bottle. “Your wife and mine are taking tea like proper Vor ladies; I thought we might as well be typical Vor lords. The preparation for this trip hasn’t given you much time to relax, has it?”

“Sadly, no. At least I’m used to this sort of diplomatic dance. It’s hard on Laisa.”

Miles busied himself with a set of cut-crystal snifters. “You can’t go home again?” he asked.

Gregor accepted a glass. “That sounds like something your mother would say.”

Miles laughed. “I heard it from her, but apparently it’s a quote from some antique Earth writer or other. She was talking about going back to Beta after becoming Lady Vorkosigan.” He sat down in a deeply upholstered armchair, noting with annoyance that his feet didn’t quite reach the floor. “She said she hadn’t realized how hard it would be to let go of Captain Cordelia Naismith.”

“Not unlike bidding farewell to a certain mercenary admiral of our acquaintaince?” Gregor raised an ironic toast, then sighed. “We ask a lot of the women we marry, Miles. Maybe too much. I was raised to carry the Imperium on my shoulders. It’s been a part of who I am for as long as I can remember. She…I fell in love with her and I dumped three planets in her lap.” He waved his hand around the luxurious sitting room, with its elegant velvet sofas, false fireplace complete with holographic flames, and yellow silk walls. “She could have married a Komorran and had all this and more, Miles. She was a respected woman with a career of her own. Maybe she would have been happier.”

“Maybe.” Miles thought about it. “But it sounds to me like you’re not giving her much credit. I suspect she had plenty of opportunities to marry. As you say, she was quite a catch—smart, attractive, successful in her own right, not to mention rich. But she didn’t marry a Komarran. She married you.”

“That she did. I can only hope she isn’t regretting it now.”

Miles remembered Greg Bleakman--the all-too-revealing alias his friend had taken years ago, during an ill-fated attempt to escape his Imperial responsibilities. This slide into -- insecurity? Self-reproach? -- felt unpleasantly familiar. “I think she knew what she was getting into. Love’s like anything else, I think—it’s worth only as much as you’re willing to give to it. It can be damned expensive sometimes, but that’s the measure of its value.”

Leaning back against a satin cushion, elaborately embroidered with the Vorbarra house crest, Gregor said, “I can give her everything I have, everything I am. I just wonder, what if that isn’t what she needs?”

Miles inhaled the fumes of his brandy. “Needs. Well, I thought I needed Admiral Naismith and the Dendarii Fleet, until I had to figure out how to be Lord Vorkosigan full time. I’ll admit it wasn’t easy. But as somebody told me, you just go on. I won’t say I don’t miss those days, but I don’t need them any more.”

Gregor was looking at him intently. “I know I managed to be Emperor without her, but I can’t remember how. She’s become utterly necessary to me, Miles. And it’s unbearable to think about what that’s costing her.”

“Look. Before she married you, she was an economist and a noted expert on intergalactic trade issues. I think she’s capable of analyzing a cost/benefit ratio. I also think she loves you at least as much as you love her.” Miles jumped down from the armchair and stood eye-to-eye with his Emperor. “As a Voice of the Imperium, may I politely recommend that you respect the intelligence and good judgement of the Empress of Barrayar.” His tone became gentler. “Trust her, Gregor. And trust yourself. I’ve known you a long time, and I’ve found that Gregor the man has never been less than deserving of anything Gregor the Emperor requests and requires.”

Gregor finished his drink. “Thank you, Miles.” He regarded the empty glass solemnly. “Much as I’d like to get Vorishly drunk with you, I don’t have any time blocked off in my schedule for a grueling hangover.” He set the glass down on the table.

“When we get home, maybe you can shake loose a week, come to Vorkosigan Surleau. There’s a little town called Silvy Vale you might like to visit. One of the brighter unexplored corners of your realm, and their maple mead is unsurpassed, if it’s a hangover you’re after.”

“I look forward to it,” Gregor replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously published at the Bujold_fic community on LJ. Comments welcome. Actually, comments really make my day. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Walking the streets of Solstice, Duv found himself slightly disoriented. More than twenty years had passed since he had called the city his home, and every corner seemed to bring a shift from the familiar to the new. Memory overlaid the existing landscape, where new restaurants and apartment blocks replaced the shabby low-rise shops of his childhood. He noticed several pocket parks on corners that had been burned-out hulks, left from the riots that had followed the Komarr massacre. The city seemed to be thriving under Barrayaran rule, and the streets were crowded. He passed a couple discussing the brightness of the day under the expanded soletta.

The playground, too, had changed. The climbing structure from which Duv’s friend Glennin had fallen, breaking his arm, had been replaced by something in bright-colored plastic, with swings and a slide. He sat down on a bench, apparently relaxed in his casual civilian clothes, the ImpSec screamer on his wrist seeming no more than an ordinary cheap chrono. Marya had said it wasn’t a setup, but that could have been a lie, or she could have been set up herself, the spring for a trap. As an ImpSec officer, he had to prepare for all those possibilities, but as a man, he could hope it wasn’t true. For one thing, it would make his job easier. More than that, she was the only family he had left, when he had spent years believing he had no family at all.

Around him children raced, shrieking, laughing, climbing, swinging, a cacophony of energy and enthusiasm. Delia wanted children. He thought he did too, although it was an effort to imagine himself someone’s father. Perhaps he could learn how, as he’d learned to think of himself as Barrayaran. A woman approached, dressed in nondescript gray and brown.

“David. You came. It’s good to see you.” He stood, clasped her hand, knowing that ImpSec was photographing their every move.

“Marya. It’s been a long time.” Again, memory overlaid a blurred image of the past on the present that stood before him, and his brain worked to bring the two into focus. He extended an arm. “Why don’t we walk? While you tell me how life has been treating you, all these years.”

She hadn’t married, she said, but she’d been with the same man since shortly after the explosion that had killed her cousin Ren. A fellow Komarran revolutionary, Luc was the expert forger who had helped Ser Galen fake his death, and later, found ways into the security and banking networks to fund his secret project on Jackson’s Hole. “We realized we had to be patient, that our time would come if only we stayed ready,” she explained. After a few years ‘underground,’ hiding from the security forces, Luc had managed to create secure cover identities. She had been living as Vera Kamenska for fifteen years, and had managed a bakery for the past decade; under the name Zeden, Luc worked as a headwaiter for a big catering company. Simple, middle-class Komarrans, whose ‘book club’ and interest in the folk dances of ancient earth were excuses to meet with others who shared their political goals.

Duv listened, wondering just how many more patient, quiet revolutionary cells lurked under the domes of prosperous cities, how long people could cling to ancient grudges instead of looking forward.

“I’ve followed your career, at a distance.” She laughed. “Zed doesn’t know. We had a huge argument, years ago when you got into the Imperial Military Academy. He calls you ‘the traitor,’ so now I don’t mention your name. But you’ve done well, David. Even if I didn’t agree with all your goals, I respect how far you’ve gotten.”

“It’s Duv, now. Nobody’s called me David for years.” He was touched by the compliment in spite of himself. “And we both want the best for Komarr. We just disagree on what that is.”

“Maybe not.” They were walking down a quiet residential street now, identical flat-fronted apartment blocks in some kind of gray plastistone, enlivened by doors and tiny balconies in variety of vivid colors. “I like my life, Dav—I mean, Duv. I like peace, and the bakery, and the new parks in Solstice. And I don’t know what I believe anymore. Will getting rid of Barrayaran government do anything but throw us into chaos and war? Zed says our freedom is worth any kind of temporary disruption, but…”

She stopped. “I can’t say this to any of my friends, not that we have many. They’re all people we can trust, which means they agree with Zed. Barrayar is evil, Vorkosigan is a vicious butcher, Gregor is a tyrant.”

“I’ve met Emperor Gregor, and Count Vorkosigan, and I’ve lived on Barrayar,” Duv said. “Maybe it would have been better for Komarr if Barrayar hadn’t annexed it, but that’s history. You can’t make it not have happened. The tyrant and the butcher, as you call them, want Komarr to be a peaceful place where people can have good lives.” He paused. “Work in bakeries, go to parks, maybe even venture outside the domes without breath masks in a generation or two.”

“I read that book, the wedding book. Everyone here did. Well, except Zed.” The book had been a brilliant bit of propaganda, dreamed up by Miles and Lady Alys as a way to satisfy the intense curiosity about the Imperial wedding. A pastiche of photographs, interviews, and biographies of Gregor and Laisa, it had been a wildly popular bestseller, with proceeds supporting a wide range of charities on all three planets. The theme of Komarran-Barryaran integration, as symbolized by the royal couple’s love, had been heavily stressed, as had Gregor’s longterm plans for that planet’s future.

“And what did you think?”

Duv remembered Miles brainstorming at one of the earliest planning sessions, in his usual fast-forward mode. _“If this changes just one mind, there on Komarr, it’s a success. If we can use this wedding to make them understand, we can’t be separate worlds, we’re both better together—”_

“I liked a lot of what Emperor Gregor said. It made sense to me.”

They walked along quietly for a few more moments, passing a woman who gave them a cheerful smile. “Lovely morning, isn’t it? So nice to have this much light, after all those months when the soletta was being fixed!” They smiled in return, two ordinary Komarrans strolling.

“So is that what you wanted to tell me?” Duv asked quietly. “You took a risk, contacting me. I’m very glad to see you again, and to know you’re alive, but I’m wondering why now.” This was the moment; even as he felt sympathy for the tired woman walking beside him, his ImpSec nerves were alert with anticipation.

She stopped, and turned to face him, but after briefly meeting his eyes, she looked down. “Wanting to believe something isn’t the same thing as believing it. If I admit that, I admit that I’ve wasted my life. If I don’t admit it…I go on wasting what’s left of my life. And no matter what I do, I betray somebody.”

He inhaled. Carefully, now… “My father believed I betrayed him. I guess he was right. The life I chose is pretty much the exact opposite of what he believed in. But choosing what he wanted…would have been betraying myself.”

“Do you have children, Duv?”

“No. Not yet.” He smiled. “But I’m getting married. She’s Barrayaran, and we are hoping to have children, in a couple of years.”

“Congratulations.” Duv looked around; they had circled back and were approaching the playground again. “I wanted kids,” Marya continued. “Zed didn’t. Our lives were too uncertain, we had bigger goals. And now here I am.” They were at the intersection of a busy commercial street, lined with shops selling clothing food, shoes, where a group of pedestrians waited for a couple of groundcars to pass before crossing.

Marya took a deep breath. “Zed’s got something major planned. It’s happening at the Mayor’s banquet on Friday. I don’t know all the details, but I’ll tell you what I do know.”


	6. Chapter 6

“A poison plot. Very old-school,” Miles commented. “Can’t you just arrest the guy, now that you know who it is?”

“I’d love to,” sighed Duv. “But there are others in on it besides Zed, and Marya really didn’t have much in the way of details. Apparently she’s expressed some doubts, and Zed’s been pulling away from her. If we pick up Zed, the rest of the cell will scatter, and I’m not sure she’d be safe, or that the plot would be derailed.”

“So you have to let the line play out a little further before you can reel them in,” said Miles.

“Not just that,” Duv said. “The real problem is that we’re playing by Komarran legal rules, and we don’t have sufficient evidence.”

Miles stared. “You’ve got a longtime member of a Komarran terrorist cell telling you about the plot! How is that not evidence?”

Duv finished checking and charging the miniaturized stunners. It was tricky work, assembling the tiny components. “Depends who you ask. We could easily hold them both under Barrayaran law, but all we have is hearsay, under local rules. They’d be released, and the political and public-relations fallout that would follow is exactly what we don’t want. Besides, we really want to take down the entire cell.”

“I hate it when politics and security collide, don’t you?” said Miles. “But I can see how bringing down the brutal jackboots of Barrayar on poor, innocent Komarrans would defeat the whole purpose of this trip, and that’s exactly how they’d play it. Gregor must have steam coming out of his ears.”

“Gregor is, as they say, not amused,” said the emperor, emerging from his bedroom to join them in the suite’s main salon. “I’d be a good deal happier if we could be sure that I was actually the target.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Laisa, sweeping in behind him. “But I’m sure you are, dear, if it pleases you. Your death would serve their agenda far better than mine. Good afternoon, Miles. Duv.”

Miles acknowledged her with a seated half-bow. “Sire,” Duv began, half-rising from his seat. Gregor impatiently waved him to his seat.

“Skip the formalities, continue the briefing. Convince me that if Laisa attends the Mayor’s banquet, you can protect her.”

“Because,” said the Empress in her most imperial tones, “I intend to be there.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=

 

The Mayoral chain of office rivaled the Imperial Auditor’s insignia for gaudiness, Ekaterin observed. The room fairly glittered with the city’s eagerness to outshine the Barrayarans. While they claimed to emulate Betan-style egalitarianism, it seemed that the glamour of royalty was not without its allure in Komarran society.

She smoothed the skirt of her green dress, its color carefully chosen to coordinate with the Solstice City Seal. At least it flattered her complexion, she thought. Miles’ Komarran-style business suit, in a slightly more subdued shade of the same hue, made him look pale and washed-out, although that might be the effect of his worries over the poison plot. She wished they could have been seated together, but arrangements had been changed several times over the previous two days, finally leaving Miles at the head table, two seats from Laisa, and Ekaterin with the members of the Solstice Commission on Urban Gardens. She smiled graciously, attaching faces to names from her hastily-assembled briefing book, and sat down to a dazzling-white tablecloth and a stultifying lecture on herbaceous borders from the Head Commissioner. She nodded and murmured agreement as the first course was laid before them, looking past Commissioner’s left ear toward her husband.

 

Zed was accustomed to keeping his face bland; a useful skill for a waiter. Tonight his polite mask concealed a mixture of irritation and triumph. There was no room for sentimentality in a revolution, and Carlo’s foolish reluctance to ‘murder a woman in cold blood’ had nearly cost them a perfect opportunity. Women had died as easily as men in the conquest of Komarr, and women could as easily be traitors. This so-called Empress, even his own Vera…no, now was not the time to worry about his suspicions about Vera. After this, she would no longer doubt him, not when he had brought the very Barrayaran Imperium down with his own hand. He forced his thoughts back to the moment, the tray of glasses he carried. This would be a memorable toast, to the future of an independent Komarr.

 

The man in the white jacket giggled. Duv restrained his anger, and rephrased the question yet again. Captain Tuonomen and Duv’s ImpSec agent had done stellar work, digging through several layers of nested cover identities to identify the young man, but that might not suffice. They were nearly certain that Carlo Demakken was the key man in the plot, his long-established and nearly-flawless record as a waiter a brilliant forgery, but when he had arrived at the banquet hall nearly an hour late, doub had set in. By the time Demakken had been arrested, allergy-tested, and his fast-penta interrogation approved by the Komarran medico-legal authorities, the guests were already being seated.

“Zed’s a bastard, don’ like him much, really. Doesn’t draw the line.” Carlo burbled with incongruous cheer. “See, I think you hafta draw the line. Women and children first. I mean, not. Not the women. Nobody likes that. Bad publitcisty, publistixy…y’know, it pisses people off.”

“Is Zed planning to kill the Empress tonight? How?” Could he halt the banquet, by some pretext? Should he? Duv’s mind raced. His orders were clear—if at all possible, foil the plot in total secrecy.

“Not just her. Kill ‘em all, he says. Mayor, Emp’rer, whole table. All at once.” He raised an invisible glass. “To a Free Komarr!” The giggles started up again. “Big joke, they think they’re toasting one think, thing, then boom! Everybody dies.” The giggles stopped. “Not so funny. Everybody at the table, boom, even the ladies. I like ladies…”

“The toast? The poison’s in the toast?” Duv spoke urgently into his commlink, then sprinted for the banquet hall, terror squeezing at his throat.

 

Listening to the Mayor’s interminable speech, Ekaterin wondered whether “dreadful bore” was a required qualification for positions in the Komarran civil service. She’d thought the Commissioner was tedious, but the Mayor was a fountain of pompous clichés. Miles had a glass in his hand and a smile stiffly fixed on his face. He looked even more pale; she wondered if…

“…to Komarr and Barrayar, worlds united for a brighter future!” Cries of ‘hear, hear!’ rang around the room, as the assembled guests raised their glasses in unison.

All except Lord Auditor Miles Vorkosigan of Barrayar, who hastily set his glass down on the table, closed his eyes, and suddenly vomited across the elegant place settings of the head table, dousing three candles on the central candelabra and splattering the elaborate velvet gown of the Mayor’s wife.

 

Duv raced into the banquet hall, stunner drawn, hearing a high, hysterical shrieking from the head table. Too late, too late, a frantic voice in his head repeated. An acrid stench reached his nostrils. An acid-based poison? He skidded to a halt, realizing that the Empress and Emperor seemed unharmed, the Mayor’s wife was dabbing frantically at her dress with a napkin and crying, and Lord Auditor Vorkosigan…

“Do not touch those wineglasses! Step away from the table!” He and Ekaterin reached Miles’ side at the same time. “How much did he drink?”

“I don’t think he had a chance.” Ekaterin waved to Miles’ glass, still filled with pale-gold Komarran sparkling wine.

“Got him, sir.” An ImpSec guard held a stunned waiter. “This is the guy who served the wine at the head table.”

“Good work, Mason.” Mason shook his head, and Duv followed his glance to Gregor, who had one arm around Laisa, and a tiny stunner in the other, poised to fire again. Gregor gave a small, grim smile.

“Take all the glasses for analysis. Medic, full tox screen on the Auditor, just in case! All banquet hall staff are to be held for questioning!”

Miles groaned. “I think I just set Komarran/Barrayaran relations back fifty years.”

“On the contrary,” said Ekaterin, looking at his full glass. “I’m not sure, but I suspect you just saved the Imperium.”

The hero’s only reply was a noisy belch.


	7. Chapter 7

Eyes closed, Miles lay limp on a sofa in the banquet manager’s office, head in Ekaterin’s lap. He decided, sadly, that it was not possible to die of embarrassment, given the fact that he had survived adolescence. His track record with dinner parties was worsening, but at least this time, Ekaterin wasn’t running away from him. Her cool hand on his forehead was soothing. His stomach seemed to be calming down, but being sick made a splendid excuse to not interact with anyone.

He heard the door open. “Ekaterin. How is he?” Duv’s voice.

“The medic says he’ll be fine. Just a return of the intestinal virus he had last week…with all his drug sensitivities, they had a hard time knocking it down. He’s not been poisoned, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Duv sat down heavily in the manager’s office chair. “Nobody was, and a damned good thing, too. That toast would have taken out the entire head table within minutes.” He sighed deeply. “I was very nearly too late. If it wasn’t for Miles and his exquisitely timed distraction…”

“How are Gregor and Laisa?” asked Ekaterin. “And Madame Losendar…she seemed rather distraught.” The Mayor’s wife, she privately thought, had overreacted, but maybe the woman had never had children. Once you’d been a mother, bodily fluids lost their power to upset.

“They’re fine. Laisa was the one who took control of the situation, actually, made sure there wasn’t a panic. She said all the right things, and Gregor’s being hailed as a hero. I’d have preferred to avoid the drama, but she thinks we can work this to our benefit, in terms of public relations and Komarran attitudes.”

“She’s brilliant, but she did leave me to deal with the Mayor’s wife.” Those were Gregor’s sardonic tones. Miles heard Duv rise, hastily.

“Sire, Empress…my deepest apologies. I take full responsibility for the near-disaster this evening. You will have my resignation as soon as you want it.”

Gregor gave a short laugh. “I’ll take that chair, but not your resignation. It was my decision to put security second to politics and go ahead tonight, so that responsibility is not all on your head. We’ve gotten through this alive, and Tuonomen tells me the conspirators are in custody. The only casualty seems to be Madam the Mayor’s dress, and my Lord Auditor here, who has retreated to the safety of his wife’s skirts.”

Queasily, Miles lifted his head. “Sire. May I resign in disgrace now? Please?”

Ekaterin and Laisa exchanged a glance. “I think not,” said Laisa. “The disgrace of having saved our lives is something you’ll just have to live with.” Miles sat up, smothering an acid belch.

“We also serve who only lose our lunch, empress. I wish I could have been a little more…heroic, but I’m proud to serve in whatever way I can.”

“No matter how repulsive,” remarked Ekaterin fondly.

Miles dropped his head to her shoulder. “Can we go home now? They called my father the Butcher of Komarr. I can’t wait to hear what they’re calling me.”

Between them, Ekaterin and Gregor helped Miles to his feet. Duv spoke into his commlink, and a phalanx of heavily armed ImpSec guards surrounded them as they made their way down a narrow back hallway to the waiting groundcar.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The Imperial Yacht Vorkomarr slipped smoothly into orbit around Barrayar. It was night, the planet below only visible as a few scattered spots of light. Laisa wondered which was Vorbarr Sultana. _I just want to get home,_ she thought, and then wondered just when and how Barrayar had earned the name ‘home’?

A door slid open behind her. “Oh! I beg your pardon, Empress. I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

She turned. “No, Duv, please come in.” She waved him toward the other sofa that faced the main viewport. “I couldn’t sleep, and I just wanted to…wander a bit, without having Security dogging my every step. And I wound up here.”

Duv sat, back straight. “I understand that Security must have felt oppressive, and I regret the neccessity, Empress. I hope your next trip will be a bit more relaxed.”

She nodded. “By the way, how is your cousin? I feel I should thank her personally for coming forward. It must have been a hard decision to make.”

“I think she’ll be all right,” Duv said. “The Komarran authorities have her in protective custody right now. She’s considering coming to Barraryar for a visit, when the investigation is completed. After that…well, she’ll have to relocate somewhere, start over.”

“Perhaps my family can help with that,” Laisa said. “I have cousins all over Komarr.”

They fell silent for a few moments, gazing through the viewport, listening to the quiet hum of the ship’s systems.

Then Laisa inhaled let out a long breath, and spoke. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly. In a way, all this is your fault.”

Duv was startled, then saddened. He blamed himself for how close the poison-plot had come to succeeding, and apparently she did too. “Again, my apologies, Empress. I am only grateful that others were able to serve where I failed you.”

Laisa blinked. Was he still blaming himself? Poor Duv, always so upright and responsible and never satisfied with himself. “Two things,” she said. “First, I don’t consider you to have failed, and neither does Gregor, so you can stop that right now. I have always felt I could trust you, and that hasn’t changed.” He bowed his head in acquiescence, if not agreement.

“And second.” Laisa smiled. “I understand the protocol, but just for tonight, could you call me Laisa? Like you did when I first came to Barrayar.”

“Of course….Laisa.” The syllables felt awkward in his mouth; he hadn’t been alone in a room with this woman since those days, when he had imagined marrying her, not serving her as chief of Security. He hoped the loose Komarran tunic and trousers she wore weren’t actually her pajamas.

“I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I have you to thank for the life I have now—you took me to that dinner, where Gregor and I met. I never could have expected or imagined where that would lead. You changed my life profoundly.”

 _Though not in the way I had hoped,_ he thought. “My pleasure,” he said. _Pleasure, pain, jealousy, frustration…._

“Growing up, I couldn’t have imagined making a permanent move to Barrayar, or marrying a Barrayaran,” she continued. “Of course, I suppose that’s true of most Komarrans our age. And yet, here we are. A very unexpected destiny.”

“Laisa, I think Barrayar needs you,” Duv ventured. “And Komarr needs you to be where you are, too. You proved that on this trip.”

She smiled. “That sounds very much like something Ekaterin said to me. Tell me—just between us—do you sometimes feel caught between two worlds? Barrayar pulling you in one direction, Komarr in another?” She leaned forward, intent, the view of the planet below them ignored for the moment.

He considered her question. “Yes,”he said. “I belong to both worlds now, and sometimes I feel too small to cover the distance between them. But, back when I first joined ImpSec, I thought that maybe I could be a bridge, or at least a small part of one.”

She turned toward the viewport and caught her breath as dawn broke the darkness, curving around Barrayar’s edge, day pushing its way toward them. They watched in silence for a moment, as the crescent of light became wider and brighter.

Laisa spoke quietly, not meeting his eyes. “Sometimes, Duv, I wonder where and who I would be now, if you hadn’t taken me to the Imperial Residence that night.”

 _My wife, perhaps,_ he thought, but then Delia’s face rose up in his mind, and a pure, almost painful longing for her brushed aside all might-have-beens. He stared out the viewport as if his vision could pierce layers of atmosphere and cloud to where his betrothed lay sleeping.

“Somehow,” he said slowly, “I think we’re both exactly where we are supposed to be."

 

=-=-=-=-= THE END =-=-=-=-=


End file.
